Born 6 weeks early to someone who days before delivering was sobbing to the dogs (again, the dog nut thing) about how sorry she was for what she was about to do to them, Keenan made his arrival. It was the best damn thing that could have happened.
To say that I was shocked that I was pregnant was an understatement. To say that I had a VERY difficult time accepting that I was pregnant was a gross understatement. To say that I was looking forward to welcoming my new bundle was...well, you get the picture. There was no excitement leading up to his birth...just apprehension and a feeling that well, I had made my bed.... I was journaling awful things soon before his birth about regretting my decision to keep him. And no, I am not one of those people that is shocked pregnant people think that way or am ashamed to admit that I did. It's not all that uncommon. Even in the best of circumstances having a child is a universe altering, planet aligning experience for anyone. Others have thought those things...they just may not admit that they have for the sake of not wanting to seem like a "bad mother".
So when Keenan came out and was whisked immediately to the NICU after what seemed like an eternity to his first cry, I was just glad the whole ordeal of birth was over. In those moments waiting for him to cry I remember my mother asking me "you're not worried are you?" and I said "No, I know he's going to be alright". Do I believe that was a mother's intuition kicking in...hell no! I was exhausted after a full 24 hours of labor and a grueling birth experience the details of which I won't share because people who may not have already had children may read this post. I was relieved he was out. I wanted to see him but the concept of having this little human in the world that had just come out of me hadn't really registered yet.
As it turns out, his lungs were healthy, he was an impressive 5 lbs, 4 ozs for being a 34 weeker and he was able to maintain his body temperature well. He needed antibiotics because I ran a fever but was overall ok. After the fourth day in the NICU he became what the nurses call a "feeder and a grower". Ahh, but therein lied the problem. The poor thing was too pooped to eat. So, he got the feeding tube. So with all of that why in the world would his early birth be the best thing that could have happened? Because I believe it's basic animal instinct that when denied access to something it intensifies your craving for it. And that's what it did. That inability to take him home right away awakened a fiercely intense feeling of maternal protectiveness. One in which I knew from that moment on every action of my being would be for the purpose of protecting that little tiny baby. And I would be damned if I wasn't going to be there every day for every feeding (until the nurses made me promise to skip the middle of the night feeding). That was that. I was in love. I can happily report that nothing in my life has made me happier and I don't regret now for a single second that I chose to bring him into this world.
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